Honor
by SilverZelenia
Summary: There is a bounty on Thorin Oakenshield's head, and it is not just servants of evil that want him dead. There are those among his own kind who wish for his death. Slow-build Thorin x OC


**Chapter 1**

"**From our ancestors come our names, but from our virtues come our honor."**

**- Latin Proverb**

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><p>Poison, she decided.<p>

She would poison the crownless king.

He made himself an easy target – it was laughable, really. Perhaps he didn't realize there was a price on his head – or _for_ it, rather. Perhaps he thought he was safe inside the tavern. Perhaps he was simply overconfident. Either way, her task was shaping up to be an easy one.

The Prancing Pony was a cheerful establishment, and a crowded one. It was easy for Yvette to slip inside, easier still to find a position from which to view the lone dwarf. Over the years she had picked up a few tricks, and she was not as foolish as the other hired mercenaries that were out for Thorin Oakenshield's blood. She could spy at least three, and they were indeed being quite the fools, staring at their bounty with accessing eyes. They all looked suspicious, and despite her earlier thoughts that the dwarf was foolish, he would surely notice them.

No – Yvette was smart, and she was cunning.

The blonde sat at the long table near the door, where ruddy-faced, half-drunk men and barmaids laughed the loudest. She had a hot meal of her own before her, and maintained a cheerful conversation with those that sat around her.

To be a proper assassin, you had to blend in – you had to be indistinguishable from the crowd. That was the first thing Yvette was ever taught. It was a lesson the others hunting her target needed to learn, and desperately.

Her plan was fixed firmly in her mind, waiting only for the right moment to fulfill it.

_Now._

One of the barmaids had swept past Oakenshield's table, snatching his empty mug. It was the moment Yvette had been waiting for. Now, she simply had to pass herself off as a different barmaid – a task she had come prepared for in a dress befitting such a station, and had even washed her usually dirty hair – and place the poison-laced ale on his table. It would be easy to fake the smile at the thought of the gold awaiting her.

That was when Yvette's plan was stabbed right through the heart.

She was already halfway across the room when the tall, gray-robed man slid into the empty chair opposite the dwarf and began to speak to him. Both of the men looked towards the other would-be assassins spread out around their table, and she knew then that there would be no killing Oakenshield that night. He was far too wary after spotting the others.

"Dammit," She muttered, earning an odd look from a man at a nearby table.

Ice blue eyes shot down to the mug her right hand held and the innocent-looking alcohol within it. She did not like to waste resources like this – reliable, fatal poison was not something that was easy to come across in your everyday village market. It was a great shame that she would have to pour it out.

A disturbance in the corner caught her eye. It was an exceedingly drunk man, swaying on his feet. It appeared a young barmaid, who didn't look anywhere near full grown, had spilled the drink she was bringing him – he had not taken it kindly. Yvette recognized him as the same man that had harassed an older woman but an hour before.

Her mind was made up when he shoved the girl.

The woman's feet moved swiftly, weaving carefully through the mass of bodies to place herself between the scared teenager and the red-faced man. Her free hand gently pushed the girl away – she obliged quite willingly, unsurprisingly – and fixed a soothing smile on her face.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir – she's new here. Here's your drink."

His shouts silenced as he fixed her with an appraising look, settling back down in his chair. He didn't say anything, merely waved his hand at her in a clear dismissal.

A hot flash of anger rushed through Yvette's body, but she forced it down.

She saw the man pick up the mug as she turned to leave, and felt a smug sense of satisfaction. It was she who would have the last laugh that night.

Nimble hands threw her cloak over her shoulders and pulled the hood up. She downed the last of her own drink, snatched her now cold hunk of bread off of her plate and made for the door – she would not be staying at the tavern any longer.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the drunkard's face perform an odd contortion. The mug dropped from his hands, which flew up to his throat as he made a strangled choking sound.

A gust of wind hit her face as she stepped into the entryway; her ears caught a scream that was quickly drowned out by the pounding rain.

Yvette did not look back.

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><p><strong>AN: Yvette doesn't give a <em>single<em> fuck. XD This was a bit short, but the fic is to be a multi-chapter - so this was only the beginning of the adventure! ****I may change the title at some point, I couldn't think of anything better at present time. ****Let me know what you think? :)**


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